


Unbreakable

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentors, Operas, Singing, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Singing teacher Laura Roslin helps Billy Keikeya come to terms with performance anxiety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbreakable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Singerdiva01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singerdiva01/gifts).



> Written for singerdiva01_sk for bsg-epics Holiday Wishlist exchange. (Happy holidays!! I hope you like it!)
> 
> Thanks to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for the speedy beta. :)

Laura locked up her studio, keys jingling in her hand. She balanced a book of music under one arm and the schedule for the following week’s concert in the other. The place was empty. Clearly, she was the only one crazy enough to hang around on a Friday afternoon. She almost forgot to call security so they could come by and do their final lockup. She ended up making the call while she was already halfway out the door.

She was thumbing through the contacts list on her phone when she heard it -- the floating shimmer of a tenor voice, echoing like a long-forgotten ghost in one of the empty rooms down the hall. Laura leaned against the door frame and listened. Don Jose’s aria from _Carmen._ The voice wasn’t familiar. This couldn’t be one of her own students, could it? She dropped the books she’d been carrying on one of the desks in the front room before tiptoeing down the hall to listen some more.

It was a voice that begged to be listened to, the kind of voice that would draw in anyone who heard it simply because it was beautiful and warm and effortlessly pure. The singer stopped mid-phrase, played a chord on the piano, and repeated the notes, this time allowing his voice to gradually fade into a beautifully executed diminuendo. The door was half opened. Laura could see only part of the singer and his face wasn’t in full view. She approached the door, allowing her heels to clack against the hardwood so she wouldn’t startle him.

“Knock, knock.” She poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt your practice. I was just getting ready to shut the place down. If you want to stay, you can. Just give security a ring before you leave.”

He flushed. “Oh, I’m just finishing up. I didn’t realize anybody was still here.” He dropped his music book and bent down to pick it up, nearly knocking over a music stand in the process. Laura steadied the teetering object while he retrieved the book.

“Beautiful,” said Laura when he popped back up. “Your singing.” She smiled. “You’re one of Helena’s, aren’t you?” She couldn’t remember his name but his face was familiar. Too boyish for a twenty year old but he’d always have that look of youth about him. In his forties and fifties it would be a blessing, even if he hated it now.

He frowned. “Well, I’m not sure -- not anymore. I...was.”

Helena Cain had produced enough first-run opera house singers in her teaching career to have students flocking to her studio in droves. But for every success there was at least triple that number in failures. Her ironclad reputation gave her the freedom to behave any way she liked. Laura had always felt the woman misused the power her notoriety granted to a degree that bordered on abusiveness. Complaints were repeatedly swept under the rug. The administration wouldn’t touch her. While Laura couldn’t dislodge the awful woman from her post, she could mitigate the damage she inflicted. Not an ideal solution and certainly not one she was entirely happy with -- but for now it had to be enough.

“It just happens I have an opening in my studio -- if you find yourself in need of a teacher.” Laura extended her hand. “I’m Laura Roslin. I don’t think we’ve formally met.”

He gave her hand the kind of firm shake she appreciated. “Billy Keikeya. You were at the Honors recital last week,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And uh...you were there for the whole thing?”

Laura smiled. She knew where this was going. “Of course.”

Billy gave a self-deprecating laugh. “And you still want me as a student?”

“Yes, I do.” She grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and carried it toward the piano, placing it near the bench. She motioned for Billy to sit down. “Do you have a minute?”

He sat down at the piano and she settled in across from him. “Billy, you’re not the first person to have a lapse during a performance.”

“A lapse? That wasn’t a lapse that was -- a catastrophe. I didn’t even finish the aria. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was horrible. My parents were there. They drove five hours to come down to see me. Dee was there,” he said more quietly, looking past Laura. He gazed distantly toward the windows before meeting her eyes again. “I don’t know if I can set foot on a stage anymore. I’m not sure I want to continue at all.”

“But you’re here,” Laura pointed out. “On a Friday afternoon. Singing.”

He shrugged. “I figured the place would be deserted.”

“When I was about your age,” said Laura, “I had an audition for a YAP at the Chicago Lyric Opera. Huge opportunity. Lots of pressure just to be chosen. I prepared for months. I had the requisite five arias, the dress, the accompanist I couldn’t afford -- the whole deal. Of course, they asked for the Mozart first. They’ll always ask for the Mozart first if you have a Mozart aria in your package. Just an FYI. _Ach, ich fuhls_. Pamina in complete devastation and distress. One of the most melancholy arias in the repertory. My accompanist played the opening chords. I took that first slow breath to prepare. But when I opened my mouth to sing, I was just as shocked as everyone else when the only thing that came out of it -- was laughter.”

Billy flinched. “What did you do?”

“I tried to pull it together and couldn’t. I remember feeling completely out of control. I was sweating. My hands were shaking. After a couple more attempts, I just left. I didn’t even pick up my music. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I spent the following week feeling like a complete failure. I couldn’t face my teacher. When she finally cornered me in the hall late one afternoon, not very much unlike this one, she dragged me into her office. Do you know what she said?”

Billy shook his head. “No.”

Laura smiled at the memory. “She told me she’d clearly given me the wrong aria and plunked down Adele’s _Laughing Song_ instead.” She watched as Billy’s lips began to curve upwards.

“It’s okay. You can laugh. She wasn’t kidding. I re-auditioned with the _Laughing Song_ and by some crazy twist of fate, I got into my first YAP. The committee ‘admired my spunk.’ Every singer faces nerves. You just have to find a way around it, over it, under it. You pick yourself up, you try again, and you figure it out. You shouldn’t throw your career away over one lousy performance experience. Not with a voice like yours.”

Billy shifted. His naturally rosy cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. She suspected he wasn’t used to praise. “Helena says I don’t have the stomach for it.”

Laura leaned forward. “Well then, let’s prove her wrong. Can I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.” He grimaced. “It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

She flipped through his aria book. The pages were covered with pencil markings and notes. He was a hard worker. “Don’t sing Don Jose. You’re a light lyric tenor. It’s too big for you -- right now. Try something lighter. Less dense accompaniment. Have you ever looked at Nemorino? _Una furtiva lagrima_?”

“No.”

“I think it would be perfect for you.” She opened to the page. “Would you like to try it?”

“Now?”

“Yes. If you can put up with my rather abysmal piano skills. Consider this my audition.”

There was genuine amusement in his expression. Good. He was relaxing a little. “To be my teacher?”

“Precisely.”

He hesitated before answering, expelling a long breath when he finally did. “Okay.”

They switched places. Laura settled in at the piano bench and Billy stood next to her. His voice was unsteady at first, thin and white toned -- very similar to the way he’d sung at last week’s recital when nerves had gotten the better of him. He kept looking at Laura like he expected her to stop him. She didn’t. Toward the middle of the piece, she began humming along, supporting his vocal line with her creamy, gleaming soprano. His voice began to bloom then, just for a few measures, before it wavered and faltered again. He cracked on a high note and stopped abruptly.

“Sorry,” croaked Billy.

Laura pretended she didn’t hear the apology. “Can you hand me my purse? It’s on the chair behind you.”

He gave it to her and she rifled through it until she found what she was looking for. She handed him her business card.

“i don’t have my schedule with me but I’ll be in the office Monday morning. Give me a call and we can make arrangements. You have a nice low range, too, you know.”

“Thanks. I always wished I were a baritone.”

Laura waved a hand away. “Tenors always get the girl. It’s one of the laws of the operatic universe. Tenors get the girl and sopranos go bonkers.”

He laughed. “That’s true.”

“There’s a student / faculty recital in February. Maybe you’d think about singing a duet with me. After my YAP audition hiccup my teacher and I did a series of soprano / mezzo-soprano duets. It really built up my confidence. Plus...I think our voices blend pretty nicely.”

“I think so, too.”

“Are you heading out?” asked Laura, shouldering her bag.

“No. I think I want to stay and look at this aria some more." He sounded excited. "I’ll be sure to give security a call before I do.”

“Have fun.”

“Thanks, Laura. For everything.” He reached out to shake her hand. Laura gave him a reassuring squeeze, offering comfort that words wouldn’t be able to convey. She was elated when he squeezed back.

“Monday?” Billy asked with a small grin.

“Monday,” agreed Laura with an echoing smile.


End file.
